


the stars burn brightest on the coldest of nights

by AGlassRoseNeverFades



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Rocky Horror Picture Show
Genre: Although no singing I'm afraid, And just a pinch of Lovecraft for good measure too, Because my brain saw the parallels and said yeah why not, But there is music and dancing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crazy house physics, Crossdressing, Flirting, Halloween, Horror, Horror Tropes, I can't decide if Hannibal is an alien or fae or some pagan god, I think I might have, Innuendo, Intense Sex, Intimacy, It's bigger on the inside lol, M/M, Most definitely supernatural and possibly alien Hannibal Lecter, Oops, Perhaps all of the above, Rocky Horror AU, Science Fiction, Space and time what the heck are those concepts lol, UST that gets resolved hella fast, Uh did I accidentally make this sort of a Wizard of Oz AU for real too?, With mentions and allusions to Wizard of Oz as well, hell yes, why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGlassRoseNeverFades/pseuds/AGlassRoseNeverFades
Summary: All Will Graham wants is to get home to his dogs and the bottles of liquor waiting in his cabinet before his day gets even worse. When his car breaks down on the side of the road that rainy Halloween night, however, he goes out in search of help and instead finds more than he ever bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So ashamed that it is now _two weeks_ past Halloween and I am still only halfway through this AU I promised y'all then. Partly to make up for it, this will now be a two-parter instead of a one-shot. (And to those of you still waiting on an update to The Fairy's Bride or the sequel to Spider-Man and Deadpool Have a Meet-Cute that I also promised, I swear progress is being made on those as well!)

Nights like this are when Will regrets taking Jack up on his job offer the most.

The crime scene itself had been bland and unoriginal in Will’s expert opinion—half of some poor farmer’s crops cordoned off by the police and ruined by blood spatter and wax drippings in a so-called “ritual sacrifice” so blatantly ripped off from a bunch of B-horror movies, and just in time for Halloween, no less, that Will might have gotten a headache from how hard he had to roll his eyes at it. Although the strategically placed gore designed to make it look like the scarecrow had done it had been a fairly inventive touch, he had to admit. It even managed to spook some of the younger local officers until Bev’s analysis quickly confirmed that it was indeed a human’s doing, and the DNA left all over the scene was more than enough after that to track their culprit down and capture him in a mere matter of hours.

So not only had it turned out to be a waste of time for Will to go since his talents were not needed, it also meant he had to make the long drive back to Wolf Trap well after dark in the middle of one of the heaviest thunderstorms he’s seen so far this year. Trick-or-treaters in this part of Virginia will be sorely disappointed to have to remain indoors and endure the evening empty-handed. That’s if there _are_ any trick-or-treaters out in this deep neck of the woods.

And speaking of, he must have somehow missed the turn back to his usual back roads because none of this looks familiar to him _at all._ It would be his luck too that just as he comes to this realization, the station wagon suddenly stalls out, forcing him to slam hard on the brakes. The car fishtails into the nearest ditch before dying altogether, the last thing he sees before the headlights go out being a low hanging branch that would have speared straight through his windshield had the car kept going just a couple more feet.

_“Jesus,”_ he breathes out, and lays his head on the steering wheel for a few tense moments, until his posture relaxes and his heartrate slows back to an even tempo. Then he sits up and starts trying to figure out just what the hell happened. His car should not have stalled out like that. It may be old, but he keeps it very well maintained. His gut instinct would be to pop open the hood and check, but there’s not much he can do about it now under these conditions, and even if he were able somehow to get the engine running again, there’s no backing it out of this steep ditch he crash-landed in on his own. He’ll have to call a tow company.

At least he would, if he had any signal on his phone. Cursing aloud, Will resigns himself to braving the weather and hitchhiking up the dirt-sludge road until he finds someone who can assist him. Grabbing a flashlight and a thin, worn-out parka that’ll most likely do nothing to keep him from getting drenched, he trudges out into the storm and almost immediately his prediction proves true, as after very little time spent walking his boots and the bottoms of his pants are already caked in wet, sucking mud and every layer he’s wearing gets heavier as the rain soaks him through to the bone. Guided only by the thin beam of his flashlight and the occasional flash of lightning overhead, Will slogs his way deeper into the woods hoping to find a gas station or at least some kind of shelter with a landline, anything will do really.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” he mutters to himself in morbid humor, though it isn’t long before even that is sapped away from him as well as he has to conserve his energy for the walk and not letting his teeth chatter out of his head. He begins to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t a mistake to leave the car after all, when with another loud crash of lightning and thunder the night becomes brilliantly lit for an instant, and he sees that he is only a few more yards away from a tall and narrow but beautifully constructed country house, inexplicable out here in the middle of nowhere. It had been so dark he hadn’t even noticed how close he was and might have walked right past it never knowing it was there. Odd really that he hadn’t even seen its lights from here, when now he can easily discern the warm cheery glow from within once his eyes adjust and the flash of white is gone from above.

Making his way carefully up the stone steps out front, he raps on the door firmly with the side of his fist to make sure he is heard inside over the downpour. It’s made of good, solid wood and is surprisingly warm to the touch, though that could be from the pallid chill in his hands, which look almost like spindly white spiders when splayed out against its deeply black lacquer.

The sight of it taps into some buried animal instinct that makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end despite the damp, and irrationally he feels regret for ever knocking at all, taking a step back but not quite turning away altogether, so he can use what little shelter the short awning overhead provides to pull his phone out again and pray it’s found signal this time.

It hasn’t. Releasing a frustrated snarl, he raises it high overhead and flings it down with full force, stomping down hard on what doesn’t immediately fly off in pieces from its center mass with the heel of his boot and twisting until it makes a satisfying _crunch_ underfoot.

Panting, he picks his foot back up and stares down at the messy shrapnel remaining in transfixed horror, not sure what kind of impulsive, blind fury could have possessed him to do something so reckless and _stupid._ What the hell had just gotten into him?

He has no time to consider it for long, drawn back to reality by the sound of a heavy lock clicking on the other side of the door, and reflexively kicks the evidence away into the brush next to the steps before the door creaks open so he won’t have to explain himself.

“Well, well, I didn’t think we were expecting any trick-or-treaters this evening, yet here you are,” says a man Will can’t see clearly through the crack in the doorway, except for a beard and shrewd, smirking blue eyes. _“Cute_ drowned kitten costume, by the way, although I’m afraid you forgot the ears and the burlap sack, dear.”

Will bares his teeth in a rictus smile and hopes the man can’t see how much they’re chattering. Now that he can feel a trace of warmth from inside, it makes the torrent of rain he’s standing under all the colder.

“But where are my manners?” the man adds quickly before Will can respond. “You’ll catch your death if you stay out there much longer. _Please,”_ he says, pulling the door wider so Will can enter, “do come inside, kitten.”

He accepts the man’s offer and darts inside before he can talk himself out of it, mumbling his thanks to the wooden floorboards while the stranger shuts the door behind them, trying not to stiffen as he hears the turn and slide of the lock closing again.

“You’re most welcome, pussycat, though it isn’t my hospitality you should be grateful for. No one gets in unless he wants it.” Now that they’re standing together in the light, he can see the man has more than a bit of paunch to his gut which he proudly flaunts even under the sheer robe and tight, bright red leather corset he’s wearing over silky briefs and garters that leave little to the imagination. Will might assume “Halloween costume,” but the man’s flawlessly done makeup, nails, and sex-tousled hair combined with the comfortable expert ease with which he stands in those six-inch stiletto heels he’s wearing suggest that “everyday loungewear” is far more likely. Will’s never understood why people would put that much effort into their appearance, much less at home, but more power to them if it makes them happy.

All of this Will thinks and files away with no more than a quick, cursory glance, having seen far more shocking things in his life and seeing nothing here worth gawking over. What’s far stranger, perhaps, is that he would be so comfortable in another’s home.

“You said this isn’t your house, uh…?” he asks, trailing off since he hasn’t been told the man’s name yet and wondering even as he already starts to peel off his wet jacket if its true owner is really alright with Will being here or if this man hasn’t possibly overstepped his bounds by allowing him in.

“Abel Gideon,” the man helpfully supplies for him. “And no, kitten. I live here, but it isn’t mine. It’s… _his,”_ Gideon says with a significant glance over Will’s shoulder that has the younger man turning to look up at the bannister above them. Another man Will hadn’t noticed as he walked in is standing there and gazing silently down at them both, face obscured by shadows so all Will can really make out when he looks is a silhouette and a large, tanned hand resting casually on the railing.

“Another stray for you come in from the rain, milord,” Gideon says with a cheery salute. “Shall I fetch us some more warm milk?”

“I’m not a damn cat,” Will finally grumbles, concerned now that this has already become a running gag he’s going to end up stuck with the rest of the time he’s here.

“Oooh, and this one’s got claws too,” Gideon continues, miming a cat’s paw with his hand and finishing his statement off with a playful hiss. Yep, stuck with it now. Isn’t that just great.

“You mustn’t tease our guest so, Abel,” the man above them speaks up finally, a peculiar lilting accent curling around the edges of his words, and begins an unhurried descent down the stairs. “He’s had quite a trying day already, I suspect.” _This_ man is dressed far more conservatively than his counterpart, in a dark red-and-black-checked suit that fits him very well, yet Will finds he is unable to look away as readily as he had from Gideon.

“Allow me,” the man politely says when he reaches them, and starts helping to remove the stubborn wet jacket Will had all but forgotten til that moment was still halfway clinging to him.

He doesn’t miss the way the man’s eyes rake over him as more of his body is revealed—from his sodden pants and shirt which now hold tightly to his skin and conform to his shape to reveal the musculature and curves underneath, to the still-dripping curls currently plastered to his forehead—and thanks the chill he still feels down to his bones for keeping the blush that wants to surface at bay.

“My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” the man continues with Will’s parka slung elegantly over his arm. Will wants to wince at all that water seeping into what must be a very expensive and probably dry-clean only suit jacket, but since Lecter seems not to mind at all he doesn’t say anything.

“Will Graham,” he introduces himself at last and offers his hand to shake—very unlike himself considering his usual aversion to touch, but somehow he does it reflexively in this case without a thought—eyes widening and mouth dropping open when Lecter takes it only to raise it to his lips and brush a light kiss over Will’s knuckles. Unseen outside of Will’s periphery, Gideon arches a single flawless eyebrow at the gesture.

As if there was nothing out of the ordinary about what just transpired at all, Dr. Lecter turns and hangs Will’s jacket up onto an enormous coat rack with seemingly dozens more of varying styles and sizes, then opens a linen closet next to it stacked high with fluffy white towels and offers one to Will to dry his hair with.

“You seem rather well prepared for this kind of thing,” Will says, his wariness and suspicion from before returning.

“The forecast predicted quite the storm this evening, which clearly has turned out to be true,” Lecter offers as explanation. “We are holding a midnight masquerade in celebration of the occasion,” he adds, which Will supposes would explain all the assorted coats as well. It figures that he would be crashing the guy’s Halloween party. Intuition tells him it’s the kind of grandiose affair Lecter must take a lot of pride in just like his good manners.

“Sorry to be keeping you from your hosting duties,” he says by way of apology. “My car broke down a little ways up the road. If you could just point me to a working phone so I can call a tow truck, I’ll get out of your hair. I, um, dropped mine and broke it outside.”

“Is that so? How unfortunate,” Hannibal murmurs. His warm honey-brown eyes, closer actually to maroon in this lighting, seem almost to glitter mischievously despite his words, and Will worries for a second that Lecter must have somehow _seen_ how it was actually broken before the look passes, leaving Will to wonder if he hadn’t imagined it.

“I’m afraid there is no landline here, however, nor have we been able to get any cell service during this inclement weather. You will have to stay with us and wait out the storm.” Though Lecter’s tone is apologetic, Will can’t help but suspect the man is secretly pleased by this. “If you would follow me, I’ll show you where you will be staying the night and get you some dry clothes to change into. Perhaps after that I might even convince you to join with the rest of our party.”

Not wanting to be rude by declining outright when they’ve already gone to this much trouble for him, Will simply mutters his thanks again and nods in agreement. Before leaving Hannibal turns his attention back to Gideon, whom Will is a bit ashamed to admit he had practically forgotten about until now, and asks him to stay to clean up the foyer. Embarrassed, Will looks down at the puddles and all the mud he’s tracked in and offers to help, hastily bending to untie his boots and remove them as well before he can dirty up the pristine floors even more.

“You’re sweet, Will, but I’m with the good doctor here. Priority one should be getting you all comfy and cozy and settled in. Besides, a little mopping won’t keep me from rejoining you boys later at the soiree upstairs.”

“Get Peter to help you,” Hannibal suggests. Abel laughs as if there’s something funny about that.

“If I can coax him away from his stable full of fuzzy woodland creatures and twittering songbirds for more than a few minutes, you mean,” he replies with a mocking twist of his lips, though Will can tell without even looking all that closely that it’s really a shade closer to fondness than true disrespect.  More and more, he finds himself curious about these strange, mismatched characters who should seem out of place together under one roof, yet instead seem to get along surprisingly rather well.

“Come, Will,” Hannibal says, and guides him away to the staircase with a gentle hand on his arm just above the elbow.

“See you around, kitten,” Abel calls out, throwing them both a saucy wink in parting.

“I hope you won’t mind,” Hannibal says as they ascend the steps together, “but the quickest way to the wardrobe is through the den where the others are gathered. They will want to meet you, I’m sure, and I thought you might wish to savor a few minutes in front of the fireplace where you can get warm and allow your clothes to dry a bit so they’ll be easier to change out of.” Will can hardly say no to the suggestion when put to him that way, and allows himself to be steered in the direction from which he can just begin to make out the sounds of clinking glasses and happy chit-chat and laughter.

“Are Abel and Peter your roommates?” he asks, voice casual, and tells himself he isn’t fishing for details on the nature of Hannibal’s relationship with them because he’s _interested_ or anything.

Hannibal hums thoughtfully at the question. “I suppose that is one way to describe it, though I hadn’t thought to put it in those terms before. ‘Tenants’ would be a touch more accurate, I think.”

“So you’re not really that close with them?” Will presses. Again, _not interested,_ just…making polite conversation.

“As close with them as I am with anyone else here,” the older man responds, stopping just outside the door where all the noise is coming from. “To be honest, I was pleasantly surprised to note how quickly Abel has already warmed up to you. The people here… _well,”_ he pauses, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “They are the disenfranchised and dispossessed, cast-offs from a society which neither wants nor understands them, and as such are generally not so quick to trust outsiders. I am curious now to see how the others will respond to your arrival.”

Will wonders at first why the fond glimmer in Hannibal’s expression is so familiar to him, until he realizes it’s the same as his own whenever he thinks of his dogs. He likens Hannibal wanting to trot him out for the rest of his party-goers then to whenever he puts the newest members of his pack into a cage at first to let the others sniff them out and get used to their presence. The comparison does not feel as insulting as it probably should.

“So that’s what Abel meant by more strays,” he mumbles mostly to himself, though the glitter of amusement that crosses over Hannibal’s features tells him it was most definitely overheard, and then the older man is opening the door and ushering Will in ahead of him, and Will finds he has no words to express what he sees inside.

_Ballroom_ might have been more apt of a name considering the room’s size, though despite its grandiose scale it does have the coziness and warmth of a den, with all the rugs and sturdy wooden furniture and other elegant accoutrements one would expect of an especially lavish sitting room and not one, but _two_ enormous marble fireplaces at both sides of the room. From both ends, the plush seating and coffee tables of the sitting areas taper off and give way in the middle to expansive, unobstructed wooden flooring perfect for dancing, which is indeed what many of the guests are doing.

_And the guests._ The guests are perhaps the most surprising sight of all. Based on what Hannibal and Gideon are wearing, Will hadn’t been sure whether he should expect people dressed to the nines in elegant formalwear and evening gowns or dolled up in pantyhose and glitter eye shadow like performers in a burlesque cabaret show—the answer to that question, apparently, was _yes._ Turns out this is the kind of party where no one bats an eyelash if the woman in a three-piece tuxedo and Phantom of the Opera half-mask waltzes with another woman in a sequin leopard-printed bodysuit and whiskers, or if a group in seemingly nothing but body paint wants to gyrate shamelessly against one person in the center wearing a tutu and a circus ringleader top hat.

He’s never seen a room full of so many people—all quite varied in age, race, and sex as well—dancing to the same music in whatever manner pleases them regardless of how little it matches their partners’ and wearing a wide assortment of bright, beautifully crafted costumes that should all clash and look horribly incongruous beside one another, yet somehow instead seems to fit fantastically together like scattered pieces in one mad, marvelous puzzle.

Nor has he ever been so surprisingly at ease in such a large crowd. He feels no claustrophobic desire to get away despite their large number, since the room is spacious enough that four times as many people could still comfortably fit. He also isn’t the unwilling focus of attention here as the odd one out, which is a nice change of pace as well.

Hannibal leads him to the nearest fireplace and it isn’t long before he begins to feel warm and dry again. A few people mill closer at intervals to chat with their host and greet the no-longer-shivering newcomer. They are curious about him, he can tell, but not overbearingly so, as though a random stranger come in from the rain is nothing unusual to them.

“Ah, look over there,” Hannibal says at length, pointing towards the center of the room where the crowd has parted to make way for a solitary couple who have taken charge of the dancefloor. “I do believe they have decided to put on a little show for us in spirit of the season.”

Will watches with him, the other partiers quietening down now and shivering in anticipation as a tall white man in a deep red costume with folded dragon’s wings on the back and a black woman in a flowing golden gown with tiger stripes painted over the visible parts of her arms and nape take center stage. Both of them are wearing intricately designed eye masks as well, and upon closer viewing Will notices that the woman’s has no eye holes and is completely covered.

The music changes and at once the two still figures begin moving, telling a story with their bodies of love and pain, of loss and betrayal and redemption. With careful sleight of hand, a red silk scarf appears to spurt out like blood across the woman’s throat and she falls, only for the Dragon to catch her. Holding her slumped form, the man roars, and more scarves of orange and red fly out representing a breath of fire. The woman “comes alive” again and the two finish their dance.

Their final bows are met with thunderous applause, with Will unconsciously clapping along just as enthusiastically as the rest. As the praise dies down and other dancers start returning to the middle of the floor, Hannibal leans close so he can whisper in Will’s ear, _“What do you think?”_ It’s apparent that he’s asking about more than just the performance.

“It’s beautiful,” Will replies honestly. The look this earns him from the older man has Will swallowing hard and looking away embarrassedly.

Sensing his discomfort, Hannibal takes just the smallest step back and returns the conversation to the dancing couple who just performed so theatrically for them. “Francis and Reba were much like you when they first arrived, both shy pilgrims though each in their own way. Their van broke down not long ago and stranded them here as well.”

Will opens his mouth to remark that neither of them seem all that shy now, then closes it, something else about that statement giving him pause. He had seen no van parked outside on his way to the house. He hadn’t seen _any_ vehicle, in fact, much less the dozens that should have been lined up alongside the road and out in the front yard to explain how this many people got here.

Before he can ask about it though, two more people stride up to Hannibal with purpose—or rather, one strides and the other _crawls._ The first, a statuesque blonde woman in a low-cut, sea green dress glittering with jewels, holds in one hand a glass of champagne and in the other a leash attached to the second individual, a man on all fours in a large, bulky costume made entirely out of bone.

“Hannibal,” says the woman in an icy tone that immediately commands attention. “I was beginning to wonder if you would be returning soon or if you meant to abandon your revelers to their own devices for the rest of the evening.” Will is shocked by how coldly she speaks to the man, but Hannibal only smirks as though it is no bother to him.

“They hardly need me around to teach them how to enjoy a good party, Bedelia. I’m afraid the revelry will have to make do without me just a little while longer. I plan to help dear Will here get changed and show him around the house for a bit,” he says, putting an arm around Will to pull him closer. _Now_ Will feels he’s being shown off like a piece of arm candy, and to his own bemusement finds that he is surprisingly okay with it. At least it makes the way Bedelia’s face stiffens as she takes in his appearance more amusing than intimidating.

“And what is _this_ one’s name?” she asks. Will hopes she doesn’t really think she’s being subtle. If she thinks that kind of tactic will work to put him off his game, she’s sorely mistaken.

“If you’d really been listening just now, Bedelia, you’d know it’s Will,” he snarks. “Will Graham,” he adds further. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m really not a fan of saying things I don’t mean.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have trouble speaking your mind, do you?” she observes silkily. “You should know that rudeness is one of the few vices that will not be tolerated in this… _household.”_

“How did you get invited then?” Will throws back before he can stop himself. The woman’s mouth thins into a severe line and her grip around the leash tightens, causing the bone man at her feet to lift his head slightly lest he be choked by it and growl softly at Will as if in retaliation.

Hannibal seems nothing if not delighted by this turn in the conversation and informs Will with some amusement, “Bedelia du Maurier is my oldest ‘tenant,’ you could say, Will, and in many ways enjoys considering herself my keeper of sorts.” Bedelia gives him a sharp look at that comment.

“You hardly look like you need a babysitter to me,” Will tells him. Then, realizing how flirtatiously that came out, he hastily follows it up with, “Just _how many people_ do you have living here?”

“Who can really say?” Bedelia answers on Hannibal’s behalf. “Seems it’s been eons since anyone has bothered to do a proper headcount,” she snidely adds, letting her eyes drift over the various faces in the room with an air of lofty disdain.

Wait. Something…something about that doesn’t seem right. Will unconsciously takes half a step back, gaze sweeping out to take in the room just as Bedelia had done. His empathy must be off-balance somehow because there’s no way he could have possibly heard what he thinks she just implied. There’s no way… _all_ of these people? Where would they even all fit? The little country house he glimpsed when he was outside couldn’t possibly hold so many bedrooms.

And yet, here they all are in one giant, sumptuous room. He hadn’t paid much attention as they climbed the stairs and took the many winding corridors on the way to this room, but now that he thinks back on it and tries to draw a comparison to what he saw of the house outside, he realizes it’s more taxing than it should be to try to make sense of the layout.

“Strange geometries,” he murmurs unthinkingly to himself, another half-remembered phrase from some forgotten horror story he read when he was young, before years and experience better honed his unfortunate gift to imagine all too well the horrors humanity could grant itself. The unrealistic fantasies that used to give him night terrors as a child would be a welcome distraction from the ones he harbors now as an adult…or so he once thought.

A steadying hand on his arm draws his attention back to his charming host’s face. “You’re shaking. Are you still cold?” Hannibal asks, but there is a strange glitter to his gaze, something proud and avaricious, as if he understands perfectly well that’s not the reason Will is shivering. Will, however, not quite ready to admit the same to himself, licks his lips and gives a tiny, rapid nod, feeling very much like the twitchy, nervous mess he usually is in social situations.

“Well, we can’t allow that to continue. Come, I can’t wait to get you out of those clothes,” Hannibal says, eliciting an involuntary blush from Will. “And find you some better attire more suited for the evening,” he finishes with a catlike grin.

“Right,” Will mumbles, licking his lips again self-consciously, his other misgivings, while not quite forgotten, certainly taking a backseat when he once again meets the man’s eyes and feels his stomach give a pleasant backflip in response.

He lets himself be led away to the double doors at the other end of the room, arm in arm with the enigmatic gentleman in black and red like some kind of posh modern interpretation of Lucifer, hardly even noticing the stares of the other party-goers who seem bemused by the intense personal interest their host has taken in this jittery newcomer, or the one glowing hotly at his back as Bedelia watches them leave, her fingertips going white from the pressure of her hold around the stem of her glass as she swallows another deep gulp of champagne.

*

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see you waiting there with antici...
> 
> _...pation._ Hehe, at least I got this out before Valentine's Day. You guys have been so patient with me that _of course_ I have to break this out into three chapters now instead of two! Because I love you and want you to have nice things. Now here's a sex scene to blow all your minds on, ya filthy animals. ;)

More twists and turns, more stairs to climb, hallways that appear to slope and shift at mysterious angles. By the time they reach the communal wardrobe, Will suspects he would quickly become hopelessly lost if his host left him alone in this maze of a house, unable even to find his way back to the front entrance on his own. He rather wonders if that isn’t the point, and asks himself silently why he isn’t more terrified. He hasn’t seen any windows since he stepped inside either that he could climb out of if his situation becomes desperate, not even the ones he saw from outside that had beckoned him closer with their cheery glow.

_Like the bioluminescent lure of an angler fish,_ he thinks with stark clarity, now imagining himself snug in the belly of a great old beast, and that thought does send his pulse skyrocketing. Hannibal notices too, damn him, his finger curling tellingly over Will’s wrist and sliding gently down his palm. They have not let go of each other’s hands since they stepped out of the party together.

“You see much, don’t you?” Hannibal asks, though it’s not really a question. “No forts strong enough to keep out your most shocking associations, barely enough to keep room in the bone arena of your skull for the things that you love.”

Will jerks his hand back from Hannibal’s as if stung. _“Don’t_ psychoanalyze me,” he tells the other man, barely restraining himself from snarling. “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

“Don’t be so sure. I am finding it difficult to imagine any scenario in which I would not like you, sweet Will.” That alone, paired with the intensity of the older man’s gaze, sends Will’s pulse racing again for an altogether different reason.

With another crocodile smile, Hannibal pushes the door to the wardrobe open with one hand and ushers Will inside, the other hand coming to rest lightly at the small of Will’s back as though the younger man had never pushed him away.

This room, if possible, is somehow even bigger than the den they just left, big enough to fit the entirety of Will’s house four or five times over, and draped with hundreds of costumes on elegant hangers from floor to ceiling. The floor itself is all but invisible beneath the swaths of fabric and furs that have presumably slid off the racks and fallen there.

“I do try to keep some semblance of organization here, but alas, there is only so much that can be done in a room of this size,” Hannibal apologizes. “Besides that, I find there is something wonderfully pleasing to the aesthetic to allow a bit of chaos to reign now and again, don’t you?”

Will twirls around the room slowly to take it all in, feeling ever more certain that this impossible waking dream is a well-honeyed trap even as he finds it harder with each passing second to care anymore. A half-hysterical laugh bubbles up out of his throat and he whirls back around to face his…captor? Rescuer? _Friend?_ Perhaps all of the above. “Nothing about this place makes sense. Are you secretly a Time Lord or something?” he teases, the real question he wants to ask hidden in plain view underneath. _What are you?_

“Are you likening my house to an extraterrestrial spacecraft?” Hannibal asks, eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile.

“I feel like Alice, or Dorothy,” Will amends. “She had no rabbit hole to fall down into. She just got swept up by the storm and transplanted to a new world.”

“That shall be the theme of your costume then. You do seem to have a penchant for blue plaid as she does,” Hannibal says, eyeing Will’s stiff button-up shirt.

“Her dress was gingham, not plaid. There’s a difference, you heathen!” Will protests, grinning when Hannibal plays along with a mock-offended hand held flat to his chest.

“Fine, but if I’m Dorothy, that must make you the Wizard,” Will continues cheekily.

“How can you be sure I am not in fact the Wicked Witch, intent upon stealing you away?” Hannibal asks, sending a frisson of both fear and pleasure down Will’s spine.

“I assure you,” he says, stepping closer until he is directly in front of Will. “I am simply a man with a comfortable home and the good fortune to have many friends.”

“Bullshit,” Will rejoins, earning one gracefully lifted eyebrow from the man who seems to loom despite not being that much taller than Will. “You’re just as alone as I am.”

He is sure now that he is not imagining the way Hannibal’s eyes darken hungrily and without mercy. _“Oh, Will,”_ he breathes, lifting his hand slowly to graze fingers against Will’s temple, tucking a stray curl back behind his ear before allowing them to continue to drift further, down his cheek and then crooking under his chin, tilting it upwards so Will’s eyes have nowhere to look but into his own.

Will rolls his bottom lip into his mouth once more and swallows dryly, Hannibal’s hand lowering even further to rest without pressure against his throat so he can feel it beneath his palm, not threatening but with the potential to be so. _“What do you want with me?”_ Will whispers.

“To help you change, Will, as I said,” Hannibal murmurs, his voice now a low rumble against Will’s ear, hand drifting lower still to undo the top button at Will’s collar, then slowly, _so slowly,_ beginning to undo the rest, allowing Will the opportunity to step back or push him away anytime he wants. Will does neither, and the other hand slides up over Will’s hip to untuck his shirt from his pants.

“To help you become what you were meant to be,” the man continues softly. “Become more than what you have limited yourself to in denial, far more than a criminal profiler hidden away from view when he is no longer needed like a fragile teacup.”

_How do you know that?_ Will wants to ask, but the first word melts into a gasp instead when Hannibal takes his earlobe between his teeth and nibbles softly on it, brushing both hands across Will’s bared stomach to his sides now to open his shirt wider. It’s only then that Will understands clearly what’s about to happen, that Hannibal is going to fuck him, here and now in what basically amounts to a giant, over-sized closet where anyone could walk in and see them. He moans.

This seems to be the signal Hannibal has been waiting for. His teeth and tongue trail lower to nip and suck at Will’s Adam’s apple, large hands splaying over his chest and tweaking at his nipples before reaching higher to push the shirt off over Will’s shoulders and let it fall to the already littered floor. Will, though far from unwilling, is frozen somewhere between fight or flight from this obvious apex predator and so acts on neither, choosing instead to remain still and docile as a lamb before slaughter.

Hannibal seems not to mind—it is charming the way Will holds himself back from returning Hannibal’s touch despite the fact that he is already hard and quivering with need. It will make the seduction all the sweeter when his boy does decide at last to respond, so for now he enjoys the way Will allows him submissively to do as he pleases, and meticulously sheds each layer between them one by one until they are both standing nude before one another.

Slender fingers tangle themselves into the older man’s magnificently thick, golden chest hair before Will has given it a conscious thought, releasing a groan that sounds closer to a satisfied purr at how rough and _good_ it feels against his palms. Eyes hooded, he bends forward to suckle one pert, dusky nipple into his mouth, moaning again at the salty taste, rich against his tongue.

The chest his hands and face are nuzzled so single-mindedly into rumbles under these ministrations. It is the only early warning he gets before his hair is suddenly gripped tightly and his head is yanked back, mouth still agape, lips plump and wet and pink from sucking, before being forcefully taken by the other man’s mouth.

The hand in his hair tightens more, enough for it to hurt a little, while Hannibal’s other broad, muscular arm coils around Will’s torso, vicelike and possessive like a cobra securing its prey—as if there could possibly be any danger now of Will squirming and struggling to get away, as if this isn’t already the most aroused Will has ever been in his entire life, as if he isn’t growing impossibly harder and needier with every cruel lash of tongue into his mouth that promises so much more.

It’s so dizzying and intense that he doesn’t recognize the sudden pitch of vertigo in his stomach for what it is until the breath has been knocked out of him from the impact of his back with the soft, clothing-palletted floor. A knee insinuates itself immediately between his thighs, and Hannibal’s strong arms are still perfectly ensnared around him in just the right way to protect his head and spine from being jarred too roughly by the landing, so there’s no way of even _pretending_ Will’s sudden fall backward was an accident.

Will has to pull back from kissing the man above him then, unable to hold in the laughter that spills out as soon as his lips are free once more, delighted and for once blissfully carefree. “How many of your other ‘houseguests’ have you concussed practicing _that_ move before you finally nailed it?” he asks humorously.

Hannibal’s grin matches Will’s own, enjoying the younger man’s mirth if not the joke itself, but his eyes are serious and fix onto him with an expression like a shark’s before answering. “You are the first, Will. The others stay because they are my friends and deserve a home where they will always be welcomed and cared for, but you are the only soul to cross my threshold I have ever felt compelled to seduce.”

Fear prickles insidiously under Will’s skin again, not because he believes Hannibal’s statement to be a lie, but because _he knows that it isn’t._ He doesn’t draw back, however, when Hannibal sinks lower and kisses him once more. He’s too far gone to do anything other than arch up helplessly and eagerly grind back into the delicious slide and friction of their bodies, no matter how much of a mistake he knows this has to be. Were there room in his head for anything beyond the haze of lust enveloping him, it would be one final, urgent whisper for him to _run,_ but even that is drowned out by the susurrus of skin against skin and soft panting, and the whine that spills out unconsciously from his own throat when Hannibal scrapes his teeth over Will’s collarbone and sucks a livid red mark there.

He doesn’t know how much time passes just like this, just sweat and skin and moans and, oh god, _the smells,_ he just knows that he never wants it to end. When he feels a warm hand slide down between his thighs, he parts them automatically, and throws his head back against the floor, mouth falling open in silent shock when Hannibal wastes no time with teasing, his questing fingers diving straight for Will's hole. He doesn’t question how Hannibal’s fingers already feel so sweet and slick they slide right in, as if they didn’t just go into him raw and dry, multiple at once as though Hannibal has been coaxing him open for hours rather than going in for the kill right away.

“I...” Hannibal pants above him. “I would, _ah..._ apologize for my impatience to have you, Will, but fear I would be apologizing soon again and, _hhhhh,_ would rather simply take you now and use my apologies only sparingly.” Will has far less ability to speak at the moment and so only nods frantically, bucking back up into Hannibal’s fingers to make it apparent that he does not mind the older man’s haste at all and crying out loudly because doing so rams his prostate against Hannibal’s blunt fingertips.

The fingers immediately withdraw from him with a squelching noise that sounds absolutely pornographic, but he has hardly any time to voice his protest before something much thicker and longer drives itself home. Will lifts his head up and looks down between their bodies in time to see Hannibal’s beautiful, uncircumcised cock pulling nearly all the way out again, before slamming hard into him once more.

The younger man grips onto the one above him tightly and makes a harsh inhuman sound, for the first time understanding what people mean about “seeing stars” during sex, his eyes screwed shut so tightly from the impact that bright, burning lights flash against the backs of his eyelids.

A few more thrusts like that and Will already can’t take it anymore, gouging his fingernails into the other man’s back in hopes that he will get the hint because he still can’t voice more than loud grunts and moans and howls of wild pleasure.

Hannibal does. He kisses Will’s ankle tenderly and then gently shifts Will’s legs so they are wrapped comfortably around his waist instead of dangling high in the air where they could allow him deeper access. He lowers himself far enough to brush their chests together and cage this slender yet well-muscled creature between his arms.

Will sighs contentedly into the languid kiss Hannibal lavishes him with, relieved by the shallower and still thoroughly satisfying angle of Hannibal’s dick buried inside him and loving the slower, lazier thrusts which ease away the ache in his lower back until everything feels warm and floaty and hazy.

When he comes, it is with a surprised, quiet gasp. The feeling of floating lingers. Hannibal’s hips stutter, and he buries his face into the crook of Will’s neck, mouthing words against his skin that feel like _Will_ and _beautiful_ and _my perfect boy_ as he also quietly comes.

Will hums, playing idly with strands of Hannibal’s hair caught between his fingers, only vaguely acknowledging the prickle of wetness against his neck that is not sweat with a calm smile. He is warm, and happy, and finding it harder with every passing second to keep his eyes open.

He thinks that maybe he must be Alice instead of Dorothy after all, because this is such a beautiful dream.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter--will Will snap out of it and go back to his own reality, or will he stay ensnared in Hannibal Lecter's arms for good? Stay tuned! ;D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~This is the fic that never ends! It goes on and on, my friend!~~ As you can see, this story has grown by yet another chapter with still more left to go. At this rate, it'll actually _be_ Halloween again by the time it's finished. How oddly fitting. ;D

He wakes to the soft susurrus of clothing being pushed on the racks a few feet away from him, warm under the weight of a large, sinfully soft fur coat in lieu of an actual blanket. He stretches lazily and smiles, turning his head only enough to confirm that the sound which woke him is Hannibal, looking intently through a row of garments in front of him. The man is clad in his slacks again but nothing else, allowing Will a clear view of the man’s impressively sculpted back muscles.

He must make a noise, because Hannibal looks back at him then and shoots a warm smile of his own in return. “You’re awake.”

“Mm,” Will grunts softly in acknowledgment. He feels loose-limbed and pleasantly rested, a far cry from the sleep he’s used to getting back home. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few minutes. I wanted to let you rest while I put together a suitable costume for you.”

Right, the reason they were supposed to be here in the first place. Will sits up finally, letting the coat slip down and pool around his waist. “No dresses,” he tells Hannibal sardonically, remembering the man’s declaration that he should attend as Dorothy.

The man huffs a short laugh at that. “A pity, but I’m sure Abel will work hard to have you converted by next Samhain,” he says, eyes glittering. “I’ve known the man long enough to be able to tell when he’s eyeing up someone’s measurements and trying to guess the best shades of lipstick and eye shadow to bring out their coloring. My prediction is that he’s looking forward to seating you at his vanity table and making your wardrobe his next pet project.”

Will groans, face hidden behind his hand, though his heart isn’t all that in it. Looking around, he realizes he has no idea where his own clothes are in the scattered mess on the floor and chooses instead to don Hannibal’s own deep crimson shirt to cover up his nudity. It’s just big enough on him as he stands to button it to hide his crotch and the swell of his ass from view, although barely. Not enough to prevent anyone from getting an eyeful if they happen to walk in right as he raises his arms up to stretch, but enough for him not to really care much anyway.

Leaving the top few buttons undone, he walks up behind the other man and wraps his arms around him, enjoying the warmth of skin through silk and a lightly furred chest under his hands, and especially the way Hannibal leans back into it and grabs hold of Will’s arms with his own as if to keep him from letting go. He thinks he wouldn’t mind having Hannibal just like this if his refractory period were a little shorter, with the man’s arms stretched taut as he holds onto the rack above for support, and leans in unconsciously to scent the man’s throat like an animal.

“Did you just smell me?” Hannibal asks, amused and panting at the same time.

“Difficult to avoid,” Will growls. “You smell like sex.”

Hannibal turns around in his arms and captures Will’s mouth in another scorching kiss, sliding his hands under the hem of his shirt to knead Will’s ass with a growl of his own.

With effort, he softens both his grip and the kiss into a more intimate caress and pulls away, sighing. “Lovely, tempting boy,” he says against Will’s well-abused lips. “Your designs would have us skipping the rest of the party altogether.”

“That’s sort of the idea,” Will admits with a teasing smile, though he begrudgingly allows the other man to pull back so he can return to selecting an outfit.

“I rather enjoy seeing you in my clothes,” Hannibal confesses with another appreciative glance. It gives him an idea for what Will should wear while adhering to the inspiration that has already been decided upon.

He steps away, and returns only a moment later with a suit draped over his arm. It is a pure, creamy white with barely noticeable threads of blue crisscrossing through it, identically different from his own red-on-black ensemble. The shirt he chose is also blue and a few shades lighter than Will’s eyes, but of a hue that will make them stand out brilliantly nonetheless.

He walks away again while Will steps into the trousers first, perusing the rows of shoes displayed along the far wall. “I believe we will forgo the ruby slippers this time,” he suggests.

Will snorts. “They were silver in the book anyway,” he mutters absently.

His mouth drops open when he looks up and sees Hannibal coming back with a pair of supple leather loafers the color of tarnished silver. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he says. _“How?”_

“You’ll find the wardrobe always has whatever you may need to complement an outfit, no matter how specific or unlikely a given accessory might seem.”

“Is there a passage to Narnia in here somewhere too?” Will asks, only half-joking. The shoes are a perfect fit, as are the pants and presumably the rest of the outfit, as if all of it were tailored specifically for him. He swallows down the uneasiness that creeps back in and quickly fumbles open the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt to trade it back.

There is a polite, rapid knock on the door, which in itself is somehow amusing enough that Will bites down on his lip to keep a smirk at bay. He has to wonder if hurried trysts are so commonplace here that knocking is a habit everyone picks up no matter which room they’re entering, or if it’s Hannibal’s presence making the person outside wary of intruding. He remembers the possessive feel of Hannibal’s arm around him as they left the party together earlier, the message that gesture must have telegraphed to everyone else who saw it really quite clear when he looks back on it. He should be mortified by the thought, or at the very least by his own obliviousness at the time, and wonders what it says about him now that he’s not.

“Peter,” Hannibal greets warmly when he answers the door, already fully dressed again while Will is still shrugging on his own suit jacket. “You have impeccable timing.”

“I did as you asked, H-Hannibal,” says Peter before he steps into the room. He stands with a hunched-in posture as though trying to make himself appear smaller, but his tone is confident and cheerful. He gives Will a shy little half-wave, which Will immediately returns.

“C-come on, boy,” Peter says, twisting around to look out the open doorway. Obediently, a speckled retriever mutt trots inside after him. Will crouches automatically, unmindful of the expensive white suit he’s wearing, and offers his hand for the dog to sniff.

He laughs when the dog comes over and licks his hand, stepping even further into Will’s space in silent demand for pets, easily one of the sweetest and friendliest pups Will has had the pleasure of meeting already.

“Oh good, h-he likes you,” says Peter. “It w-wouldn’t have been a good thing if he d-didn’t.”

“You see? Nothing to be worried about. Will is an animal lover just as you are, Peter.”

“How would you know?” Will mutters, though it’s difficult to sound even mock-stern with his arms still full of happy, slobbering canine.

“I don’t think you realize how much of your jacket was covered in dog hair when you arrived, my dear Will,” Hannibal points out amusedly.

“Couldn’t have been that much,” Will grumbles under his breath. He does manage to keep his clothes relatively clean, thank you very much, especially when he knows he’s going to a crime scene and can’t risk contamination. Also, he’s pretty sure the heavy downpour he had to march through to get here would have pressure-washed away most of what would have stubbornly remained anyway.

So, how does Hannibal know about his dogs?

“What do you think you’ll n-name him?” Peter asks, interrupting Will’s musings.

“I’m sorry?” he asks in turn, confused by the question.

“He’s n-new like you, doesn’t have a-a name yet,” Peter responds. “Figured since he likes you, y-you should get to name him.”

“Oh,” Will blinks, looking back and forth between man and dog with a soft frown. “I wouldn’t feel right about that. He’s your dog, Peter.”

To his surprise, Peter giggles and shakes his head. “No, he’s not! I brought him in for you, W-Will.”

“Every Dorothy does need a Toto, Will,” Hannibal points out, clearly enjoying this exchange entirely too much. “Though I do hope that won’t be the name you choose.”

“God no, I wouldn’t do that to him.” The dog whuffs almost regally, as though thanking Will for not subjecting him to that indignity. Such a proud dog deserves an equally dignified name. “Winston,” he decides after giving it a moment of thought.

Peter beams down proudly at them both. “W-Welcome to the family then, Will and W-Winston.” Will’s eyes snap up, trying to meet the other man’s gaze, but he’s already looking away again.

“Peter, has Winston met the rest of the animals in your menagerie yet?” Hannibal asks.

“Not yet. I can take him now if...if you don’t mind?” he asks, directing the question at Will. Will nods and Peter calls Winston back over, muttering a soft goodbye to both other men as he leaves with the dog once again in tow.

“He knows I’m not staying here, right?” Will asks quietly once he can no longer hear the soft pad of their footsteps outside.

“Are you not?” Hannibal murmurs, crowding close into Will’s space once more to straighten his jacket and brush a few _dog hairs_ from his shoulders. “I believe I do recall offering you a bed for the evening.”

Will smiles unbidden at the implication made plain by Hannibal’s flirtatious tone but doesn’t let it distract him, voicing the other question that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the past minute or so. “When did you talk to Peter about me?”

“While you were sleeping, of course.”

“You said I was only out for a few minutes.”

“A lot can happen in only a few minutes, Will,” Hannibal smiles, enigmatic. This time when he reaches up to brush a curl out of Will’s face, however, Will takes a step back. “Will?” Will shakes his head, not exactly a denial or a refusal, but...

“This is weird,” he admits aloud finally, unable to keep ignoring it any longer. He isn’t afraid though. Not yet.

“Tell me what’s weird about it, Will.”

_“Everything,”_ Will tells him with a wry, twisted grimace of a smile. “This place. _You.”_ Almost unconsciously, he’s begun pacing, looking around the room with the same nervous energy as a caged animal, though looking for what he isn’t sure.

“Each of us is weird in our own way, Will. I, for one, choose to embrace it rather than force myself to conform to what society deems the norm. You would be much happier if you did the same and stopped worrying so much.”

“Have we met before?” Will whips his head around to ask suddenly. He isn’t sure why that’s the question he now asks, he feels certain that he would remember meeting a man like Hannibal Lecter before now, and yet as soon as the words leave his mouth they feel like the correct ones. The still, ponderous look Hannibal gives him further validates that feeling.

“We have never met before today,” Hannibal assures him. Will has no doubt that it’s true, but he feels like there’s more to be teased out of that answer, something else he’s still missing.

“And...when is that? When is today?” No, that’s not the right way to ask, but it’s close.

The same pleased, enigmatic smile as before returns. “Today is still this day,” he promises.

“That’s a strange way to answer, Hannibal.”

“It’s a strange question to ask, Will.”

Will spins around and turns his back on the other man, frustrated. Without giving it much thought, he walks deeper into the closet, looking. _Looking for what?_ Who knows.

Hannibal remains where he is, quietly observing from the same spot while Will travels further and further into the maze of clothing ahead of him.

The younger man brushes aside hanging garments like low-hanging branches on a safari trek, aware that the strange instinct he’s following now can only be described as _dream-logic_ even though he knows he’s awake. It’s there like déjà vu or a forgotten word on the tip of one’s tongue, the nagging sense that there’s something familiar about this man which shouldn’t be and he only needs to find the right clue to jog his memory. Hannibal had already said once before that he’d be able to find whatever he was looking for in the wardrobe after all, hadn’t he?

“Have you actually read _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,_ Hannibal?” Will asks his companion conversationally. Will himself has not read it or watched the movie since he was a little boy, and yet it had come almost immediately to mind as soon as he got here, or rather since he met the man hovering in the background somewhere behind him now.

“I have, Will.”

“And do you remember who she first encountered on her journey?” Again, the words which fall out of his mouth appear to follow their own set of logic and rules independent of his own conscious design. “Her first companion, I mean.”

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, yet he can feel the heat of the other man at his back, as if he has been following Will this entire time. “Yes, I remember, Will. Do you?”

Will licks lips which have begun to run dry, swallowing. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to say it. Now he has no choice.

_“The scarecrow,”_ he breathes out shakily, and jerks the next set of drape-like garments in front of him out of the way quickly, like trying to rip a bandage away from skin. His face crumples, vision blurring and watery, hands shaking around fingers still anchored and tightly bunched in thick, velvety swathes of fabric on either side.

It hangs there innocently on a hat rack the next aisle over, easily within reach were he inclined to touch it. It looks like every other simple, straw porkpie hat depicted in every type of media everywhere, an antiquated cultural icon of classic Americana. It could easily be a _different_ hat from the one he saw earlier that afternoon, if not for the spatter of rust-colored stains, edged just along the brim and seeping into the weave.

“Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will?” Slowly, Will turns his head to look at Hannibal, the man staring intently at him as if there is nothing else worth looking at in the entire room. “If not, you will. It’s beautiful to behold then, you see, as it appears quite black.”

Will backs away from the other man, careful not to trip over his own feet as he inches his way towards the exit. He _saw_ that hat get bagged as evidence earlier today. Hell, they even caught the killer already! None of that seems to matter though as Hannibal stands perfectly still, watching him slowly retreat. _“Stay away from me,”_ he whispers.

Hannibal tilts his head at him curiously. “But where else would I go?”

“I don’t care!” Will tells him, voice cracking. “Just...just _stay away!”_

“I’m afraid I can no more do that than you can,” Hannibal tells him. Will laughs bitterly at that.

“Like hell I can’t. _Fucking watch me!”_ he snarls, and without any more second-guessing, turns on his heel and sprints like he’s got the devil on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that all turned sideways rather quickly, didn't it? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Of course Abel is the one who gets to rock it in a corset and pantyhose, what else did you expect? ;) Eddie Izzard is just so fabulous in makeup and high heels, it felt unnatural seeing him without on the show, I tell you!


End file.
